


hold your breath and count to ten

by InkCaviness



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Blood and Injury, Character Death In Dream, M/M, minor appearances from other characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-01 15:16:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4024759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkCaviness/pseuds/InkCaviness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a thought stuck in his mind, not quite a memory, a faded Polaroid picture of a memory with stains and blurry faces.<br/>-<br/>A smile that lights up the darkness and warms his chest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> At some point this was supposed to be fluff but that didn't work out...  
> Title from "English Summer Rain" by Placebo  
> Thanks to [commovente](http://archiveofourown.org/users/commovente) for proofreading!

 

 

_There’s the feeling of soft hair tickling his nose and slender fingers entwined with his own._

  
-

Hajime glares at his laptop and angrily hacks away on the keyboard. The words are stubborn, like a cat hiding under a car, and no matter what he does, no matter how hard he tries, he can’t lure them out. He can’t remember the last time he got a full night’s sleep and his apartment is starting to acquire a constant smell of coffee.  
There’s a thought stuck in his mind, not quite a memory, a faded Polaroid picture of a memory with stains and blurry faces.

-

_A smile that lights up the darkness and warms his chest._

-

He hurries through the crowd, gripping a tattered, old leather bag tightly to his chest. The ground is wet and he almost loses his balance and slips.  
With his eyes fixed on the ground he keeps his head low but still can’t prevent the raindrops from obscuring his vision. The colourful lights bleed together, a disarray of noises slurring into a roaring sound that makes his eardrums hurt and his head pound.  
Just as he speeds up to escape the headache forming behind his temples he spots a vague shadow in front of him. The next second he painfully collides with someone’s shoulder.  
A hand grips his arm and keeps him upright before he can fall. By the time he looks up again, the stranger has already turned away and all he can catch is the faint smell of an oddly familiar cologne.  
The scent lingers in his mind, mixed with caffeine and musty books.

-

_A ringing laugh that soothes his worries._

-

The flashes of memories don’t stop; they keep getting stronger until a steady stream of pictures races through his head.  
He used to wake up from his nightmares bathed in sweat, breathing heavily. Now his dreams are calming. They are filled with a sound that he can’t quite place, perhaps the sound of something hitting the floor, repeatedly. All he can remember in the morning are brown eyes that twinkle happily.  
He walks down the street, too lost in thought about his newest story to pay attention to the world spinning around him. Something stops him dead in his tracks, no obstacle but the overwhelming feeling of recognition that he can’t shake off. His feet are glued in place and his breath hitches in his throat as he slowly lifts his head and peers around, looking for whatever caught his mind’s attention.  
A sign dangles above the sidewalk ahead of him. _King’s Coffee_ , it reads in golden letters carefully painted on worn out wood. It creaks a little as it swings back and forth in the wind.  
The name is so familiar and yet he can’t place where he’s heard it before. He tears his eyes away from the sign and presses them shut tightly. Without giving in to the temptation of looking through the coffee shop’s window he quickly continues walking.  
When Hajime reaches his apartment he tells himself that he will take a different route from now on.

-

 _Grey smoke scratches in his throat and curls up his legs. He can’t see further than a few meters even though the milky light that seeps through the smoke is still bright enough to burn in his eyes. Deadly silence presses against his eardrums, the kind of silence that should never exist, void of any sign of life. The smoke keeps getting thicker, making breathing almost unbearable. A rattling cough makes him double over and with every breath he draws his lungs burn. Slowly turning his head he looks around, trying to catch a glimpse of something; he isn’t even sure what he’s looking for, just knows that something is out there._  
_A stabbing pain shoots through his body and he stumbles forward. It feels as if someone drove a knife into his chest and turned it. The cough makes his eyes water and when he presses a hand to his mouth it comes away splattered with blood._  
_His thoughts are spinning and his arms feel sluggish and slow as the smoke fills up his lungs, slowly pressing out any air left in them._  
_Black spots creep into his vision as the sound of rushing blood fills up his ears and suffocates his thoughts. Using up his last bit of strength he lifts his head even though every movement makes his bones ache._  
_A pair of eyes stares at him through the smoke, a thin face framed by stray strands of light brown hair. The young man staring at him looks lost but his lips are moving frantically, forming words that don’t make a sound._  
_Everything goes black and the last thing he sees before he hits the floor is a hand reaching out to keep him upright._

-

Hajime wakes up with a scream. The sensation of suffocating still burns in his throat and his heart is racing. He presses his hands to his face, slowly rubbing his temples to get rid of the panic in his mind. There’s no way he can go back to sleep now, not with the image of the young man’s face burned into his head. He knows he’s seen him before, knows that he must have seen him before, but he can’t remember where or who the man is. Carefully he lowers his hands to his lap, but he can’t tear his gaze away from them. They’re shaking and he entwines his fingers tightly to still them. His skin still feels cold even though his room is far too warm and his mouth is painfully dry.  
For the first time he can remember his dream and for the first time it doesn’t calm him but sends his heart racing and his head spinning.  
With a swift movement he swings his legs over the edge of his bed and stands up.  
He tries to tell himself that he doesn’t know the man, that it’s just his imagination.  
He tries to tell himself that he couldn’t make out what the man was trying to say.  
_Don’t leave me. Come back to me._

-

For the first time in months writing comes easy to him. Ideas flood his head, pictures of fantastic adventures and extraordinary friendships. The words string together, filling page after page, and before he realizes it the darkness has spread through the room only broken by the meek light of the tiny lamp on his desk and the light of his computer screen that paints blue shadows on his face.  
Hajime’s hands stop, hovering over the keyboard as he yawns and quickly glances at the clock.  
Midnight passed a long time ago and the tiredness makes his eyes droop and his body move sluggishly. His feet feel tingly after staying in one position for so many hours, and when he stretches his arms above his head he can feel something pop in his spine.  
Half an hour later he lies in bed, covers pulled up to his chin to shut out the winter’s biting cold, but his mind is wide awake as he stares at the ceiling.  
The pictures won’t stop racing through his head, stories about anything you could imagine, from fire-breathing dragons and brave knights to cozy coffee shops and fluttery hearts, disconnected as they float through his head, no two the same.  
But there is one thing that stays throughout it all - one red string that he just can’t cut off.

-

_A familiar face with soft hair and even softer lips._

-

“When was the last time you slept?”  
Hajime shrugs and doesn’t meet his friends eyes.  
“Yesterday, I’ve just been busy.”  
Akaashi doesn’t look convinced and Hajime thinks about telling him the truth, but there’s no way that the astronomy major would believe him.  
Hajime isn’t even sure if he believes himself, those dreams or déjà-vu or whatever they are just can’t be real, just figments of his imagination.  
A part of him screams that they are memories but he drowns that voice out with more coffee.  
Maybe he really is going crazy.  
“You shouldn’t drink so much coffee, then you could actually sleep.”  
That remark is quite hypocritical, Hajime thinks. Everyone knows that Akaashi primarily lives off of coffee. He thinks about saying so but when he looks up his friend truly does look concerned and so he just sighs instead and leans back in his chair.  
“I guess so,” his voice is too silent, barely above a whisper.  
“I’ll go to bed earlier today.”  
It’s a lie, of course it is, but his friend drops the topic and maybe this way Hajime can lie to himself just a little longer.  
The truth is that he hasn’t gotten a full night’s sleep in weeks; the dreams that soothed him in the beginning have turned terrifying.  
In some of them he is back in the smoke filled room, slowly suffocating, in others he lies on the ground, bleeding out as raindrops hit his face and mingle with the tears and blood on his skin.  
In one he drives a car through a snowstorm, and no matter often he experiences that scenario, he can’t stop his car from sliding off the road.  
Each one of them ends with that stranger who yells and yells and sometimes cries, but never gets out a single word.  
Hajime tries to talk to him, tries to answer, but whenever he opens his mouth to speak the air gets stuck in his throat.

-

 _He stands on a clearing in the middle of a forest and looks up at the swirling sky. It doesn’t feel real – he knows it isn’t real, it’s just a dream – but the crooked trees still send shivers down his spine. There should be sounds, animals, the rustling of leaves, anything at all. Not even the wind that stings like needle pricks against his cheeks makes a sound._  
_He slowly turns in a circle, carefully taking in his surroundings. The trees dangerously loom at the edges of the clearing where absolute darkness begins. The sky is overcast, grey and promising rain. When he starts walking towards the forest the first raindrops hit the back of his neck, clammy fingers dancing across his skin._  
_His ears feel funny, as if they are stuffed with cotton, and he shakes his head with an irritated grunt. The rain has gotten stronger, soaking the back of his shirt and plastering strands of hair flush to his forehead. Slowly the light is getting dimmer and only a faint, far-off shine fights its way through the trees towering above him._

  
_Looking back over his shoulder a sinking feeling sits in his stomach like a stone and he thinks that he should go back to the clearing._  
_He should turn around now, as long as he still can, and leave these dead trees in peace, but something pulls him forward. Invisible hands tug at his clothes and silent voices beckon him to take another step, just one more._  
_His feet move on their own, carry him deeper into the woods, closer to whatever awaits him in the unbroken silence of this night._  
_The metallic stench of iron hits him before he sees the red droplets splattered across the ground._  
_Every muscle in his body is tense, all of his senses scream at him to run, just run, escape while you still can and never return to this place._  
_His limbs are heavy as rocks and he almost stumbles, but he takes another step, drags his feet over dead leaves littering the ground._  
_A figure appears between the trees in front of him, but the light is almost gone and he can barely make out what it is. A man kneels on the ground, his head bowed, and his hands clutch tightly at his stomach._

  
_The stench is almost unbearable, much stronger than it ever should be, and nausea rises up in Hajime’s throat. There’s no way he can move his body, but somehow his feet take another step and bring him closer to the man on the ground._  
_He knows it was a mistake when the stranger tenses up, the muscles under his thin shirt shaking enough to be visible. Hajime wants to reach out, wants to ask what’s wrong, but deep down he already knows the answer, deep down he knows that he can’t do anything to change this dream._  
_The stranger’s hair doesn’t look soft and fluffy anymore like it used to, now it is dull and weighed down by the rain._  
_Suddenly the man’s head snaps up, looking straight at Hajime who screams without making a sound. He knows he’s screaming, can feel the air ripping through his throat and burning in his lungs, but his voice gets swallowed by the forest, just like everything else._

  
_He scrambles away from the stranger until his back hits a tree and he sinks to the floor._  
_Hugging his knees to his chest he presses his eyes shut and tries to stop the tears from flowing down his cheek, tries to calm the fearful ringing in his ears._  
_When he opens his eyes the stranger is still staring at him; his face bloodied and bruised and his nose looks crooked. The worst thing though are his eyes, those eyes that used to be bright and filled with life, are unfocused and tired with dark circles underneath them._  
_Suddenly a shudder runs through the man’s body and he tightens the grip on his shirt, fingers digging into the fabric like claws. His face is white as a sheet, lips slightly opened, trembling, a trail of blood flowing from the corner of his mouth down to his chin._

  
_Hajime watches on in horror when the stranger’s hands drop to the ground as he doubles over. Bright red blood seeps through the front of his shirt and is smeared on his palms. With frantic movements Hajime scrambles forward and grabs the man’s shoulders, trying desperately to keep him upright._  
_He should stop the bleeding, but doesn’t know how, doesn’t know if it will even help, doesn’t know if it’s too late._  
_Doesn’t know why he’s so scared, after all it’s only a dream._

_He repeats those words in his head, over and over as he tries to calms his breathing._

_This is just a dream._

_Just a dream._

_A dream._

_The stranger goes still in Hajime’s arms and he can feel tears starting to pool up in his eyes._  
_He doesn’t know this man, has never seen him before, but he can’t stop the sobs that send his body shaking._  
_Rocking back and forth on his knees he still cradles the limp body in his arms as tears stream down his face. They mix with the blood on his skin and the rain has become so strong that it turns the earth to mud and the air is freezing cold._

  
_He still can’t hear anything, can’t hear the storm, can’t hear his own cries, can’t hear his heart beating in his chest._  
_It feels like hours of sitting there in the pouring rain, hours of screams and sobs that leave his throat hoarse and his head pounding._  
_When Hajime finally looks up a thick curtain of rain is falling around him._  
_Carefully he lets the body the body slide to the ground and closes the stranger’s eyes. His fingers leave behind a streak of blood on the man’s face._  
_Somehow he stands up even though his legs won’t stop shaking and he almost falls down._  
_He looks around in the darkness and a blurry, light spot grabs his attention. Without hesitation he walks toward whatever is lying there on the ground; any caution he had before gone now, dead just like the stranger that he left behind._

  
_It’s a torn-up duffle bag, once light blue, now stained by the rain and blood soaking the ground._  
_His fingers move on their own, as if he’s in a trance, and he rips open the bag and ruffles through it._  
_The bag is almost empty, the only things he finds are a half empty bag of chips, some kind of uniform, and a wallet. He takes out the wallet and lets the rest drop back to the ground without paying it any mind._  
_He opens it and thumbs through the credit cards and bills inside when something catches his attention and his fingers stop dead in their tracks. There’s a photo with torn edges and faded colours and he carefully pulls it out._  
_It shows a young boy with familiar eyes, and although the face is too round and the hair is a little shorter than he knows it, it is still so familiar that Hajime almost drops the wallet into the mud._  
_He holds his breath and only lets it go after putting the picture back and continuing on in his search._

 _Nausea makes his stomach clench painfully._  
_It’s impossible to get that picture out of his mind, impossible to forget that carefree grin._

_It’s impossible to forget about his own face staring up at him from a photograph._

_With a shake of his head he presses his lips together tightly and swallows down the lump in his throat when he finally finds what he had been searching for._  
_Slowly he pulls out the small card and turns it in his hands. With his fingers he traces the letters on it and keeps his eyes glue to them._  
_A driver’s license, the picture on it showing the stranger that had been haunting his mind for weeks._  
_He throws a glance over his shoulder back at the body lying on the ground before he looks back at the license, but there is no way that he made a mistake._  
_The name on it feels just as familiar as the face and he still can’t remember the man but the voice in the back of his head has started up again, whispering the name over and over without pausing._

  
_The darkness starts to close in on him, pressing against his skin, black spots filling up his field of vision. The card falls to the ground when his fingers go limp and his body slumps forward into an abyss of swirling shadows._

  
_The voices whisper in his head, keep whispering that name._

-

_Oikawa Tooru_

-

Hajime wakes up with a pounding headache and a paper dry mouth. His neck is stiff, his calves burn as if he had been running a marathon, and he stares up at the ceiling for half an hour before he finally gets up.

As he stumbles into his tiny bathroom he averts his eyes to avoid looking into the mirror. Once he’s in the shower he leans his head against the tiled wall while the cold water runs down his back.  
When he looks down at the drain he thinks that the water should be red, should be washing dried blood off of his skin. Of course it doesn’t, of course the water is clear, but the dream is still fresh in his mind, far more vivid than a dream should be.

The shower helps clear the haze in his mind, but his body still aches when he steps out of the shower and starts drying off his hair.  
While brushing his teeth he can’t avoid looking into the mirror, but he can barely recognize himself, his face too thin, too tired. Dark circles are etched into the smooth, brown skin under his eyes and his hair, that never lies flat, no matter what he tries, is even messier than usual.  
The only clean shirt he can find is a baggy, old sweatshirt that he seems to be drowning in.  
The sleeves reach down far over his fingertips and he burrows his hands in the pockets of his jeans to warm them up. A steaming mug sits next to him when he opens his laptop and he spends the next hour sipping the scorching hot coffee as he tries to come up with an idea.

  
The coffee goes cold, but the page in front of him stubbornly stays blank.  
His left foot falls asleep and the tingling in his toes makes him grimace when he walks to the kitchen to fill up his cup again.  
With an unnerved look around he decides that this won’t work out. There’s no way he can stay holed up in his apartment any longer without going insane.

He gathers up his notebook and pens and stuffs them into a bag, determined to go out and gather ideas for his story. The sky is still just as grey as it was yesterday and he can hear the faint patter of rain against his windowpanes in the kitchen.  
With gritted teeth he glances at his umbrella sitting next to the front door. The bright pink monstrosity had been a gift from his sister and he briefly contemplates leaving it where it is, but the thought of running through the rain doesn’t help lift his mood at all and so he reluctantly grabs the umbrella together with his leather bags and steps outside.

  
He doesn’t really have a plan for where he’s going, just knows that he needs to get out, get fresh air and move his legs.  
A bus drives past him and almost drenches him in muddy water from a dirty puddle. Luckily he jumps aside with a curse in the last second and continues walking with a scowl on his face.  
He decides to flee the rain and swiftly pulls open the door of the next store along his way. It’s only after he’s already stepped inside and closed his umbrella that he realizes he’s standing in a flower shop.

“Good morning,” a cheerful voice greets him.  
“Can I help you somehow?”

Hajime’s head snaps up to the young florist standing behind the counter. His smile seems too bright and genuine for a rainy Monday morning and Hajime slowly shakes his head.  
“No, thanks, I’m just looking around.”  
The man’s smile doesn’t waver.  
“Okay, I’ll be in the backroom. Just call out if you need anything!”  
Hajime nods and the florist vanishes through a pale green curtain into the back of the shop.  
For a second Hajime remembers all the plants that died of thirst somewhere in the corners of his apartment, but the colourful flowers have caught his attention and starts to walk through the aisles, curiously eyeing the different plants lining up beside him.

  
He finds a pot with tiny, blue flowers in it.  
_Forget-me-nots_ , he thinks, carefully picking up them up and walking to the centre of the shop where he sets them down on the countertop next to a small, golden bell.  
The bell rings softly when he picks it up and shakes it.

“I’ll be there in a second!” the florist calls from the back.

Hajime shifts his weight from one leg to the other and restlessly looks around. His eyes stop on a wooden rack, empty, except for a woven basket, barely larger than his hand. Stepping closer to the rack he curiously eyes the basket that is flowing over with clover, bright green leaves and red blossoms. He glances over to the Forget-me-nots and then back at the clover while biting his lip in thought. Finally he takes the basket and puts it next to the Forget-me-nots on the counter.

“Did you find everything okay?”

The florist steps through the curtain, still smiling brightly and wiping his hands on his apron before tugging a strand of ashen blond hair behind his ear.

“Yeah, I’ll get those two.”

Hajime nods at the two plants sitting on the counter and pulls his wallet out of his bag.

“Awesome!”

With routine movements the man picks up the flowers and starts packing them up.  
Hajime still feels weary and blinks to get rid of the tiredness that makes his eyes hazy.

“Are you alright, Sir?”

His eyebrows are drawn up in confusion as Hajime looks up at the florist who stopped wrapping up the flowers and looks at him with thinly veiled concern.

“You don’t look so good,” the man continues, before his eyes widen and he hastily corrects his words.  
“Oh I mean you don’t-“

With a laugh Hajime cuts him off.

“It’s okay, I know what you mean. I’m just a bit tired.”

The florist shoots him a sympathetic look and Hajime only shrugs as he pays and takes the bag with his plants.  
Just as he’s about to turn away and leave the florist speaks up again.

“I hope you can catch some sleep.”

His smile is contagious and Hajime grins in return.

“Thank you, I’ll try. Have a good day.”

“You too, Sir!”

The rain lightens up to a slight drizzle and Hajime has a little more of a swing in his step.

-

His fingers hover above the keyboard and he chews on his lip as the letters flicker across his computer screen. Without hitting enter he backspaces and closes his laptop.  
That man doesn’t exist, he _can’t_ exist, it’s just someone that his mind made up with the face of a nameless stranger. Maybe he saw him in some crowded street or on TV and then his brain did the rest. He thought he was too old for imaginary friends, but maybe he isn’t, maybe his head thinks he really needs a friend, but there’s one thing that he’s sure of.

-

_Oikawa Tooru doesn’t exist._

-

Almost a week later the dreams still haven’t returned. Ever since he learned the strangers name his sleep has been restless but undisturbed by nightmares.

On Sunday morning Hajime heaves himself out of bed with a tired sigh. He pads over to the kitchen and groggily rubs his eyes while he opens his kitchen cabinet to take out the small coffee box inside. When he unscrews the lid and looks inside he is met with a disappointing emptiness. He desperately shakes the tin box but there is no coffee left, not one bit, and Hajime angrily shuffles through the kitchen and opens every cupboard, but his search for coffee is to no avail.

It’s hard to accept the fact that he will have to go grocery shopping again, but he finally decides to go to a coffee shop. He hastily pulls on his clothes, grabs his bag and minutes later he closes the door of his apartment behind him.  
He doesn’t really know where he should go; he’s never been much of a fan of coffee shops, so he just walks down the street and curiously eyes the shops to either side of him. It takes him only ten minutes of wandering around aimlessly before his eyes fall on the window of a small, cozy looking coffee shop and he pulls open the heavy, wooden door without hesitation. Immediately warm air and the strong smell of freshly brewed coffee hit him and a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he gets in line behind an elderly woman with grey, curly hair.

The coffee shop has a welcoming atmosphere, mismatched chairs lining the walls where people sit and chat with each other or work on laptops propped up in front of them. While the line slowly moves forward Hajime takes out his phone and absentmindedly plays around with it until the woman in front of him reaches the counter. Only then does he look up to the board above his head to study the coffee shop’s offers.  
“King’s Coffee’s Menu” greets him in fine letters adorned by a small, golden crown perched atop the _K_ and Hajime’s eyes widen in panic as his heart begins to race in his chest.

  
He stands frozen in shock when a familiar voice drifts to his ears and his head snaps to the man behind the counter.  
Light brown hair framing a slender face, a charming smile and sparkling eyes with dark, long eyelashes.  
The stranger is even more beautiful than he had been in Hajime’s dreams, his memories, the pictures stuck in his mind.  
The man’s lips move and Hajime shakes his head to clear his mind and catch what the man is saying.

“What can I get you today, Sir?”

 

Hajime opens his mouth to reply but nothing comes out. He clears his throat and tries again.

 

“Oikawa Tooru?” is all he can blurt out in a scratchy voice before he clamps his mouth shut to prevent himself from saying anything else.

 

Confusion spreads across the barista's face before he cocks his head and blinks rapidly. Hajime’s eyes are glued to the shadows that the man’s eyelashes paint on his cheekbones.

 

“I’m sorry, do I know you?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My wifi went out yesterday so I was kinda scared i wouldn't be able to update on time but here I am, back online!
> 
> Again, thanks to [commovente](http://archiveofourown.org/users/commovente) for proofreading!

 

 

“ _I’m sorry, do I know you?”_

 

_-_

 

Hajime wishes he had never gone to Kings’ Coffee.

It’s been almost a week since he heard the strangers’ voice, _Oikawa_ _’s voice,_ almost a week since all those memories crashed down on him like an avalanche.

                The customers in the shop had stared at him in poorly concealed curiosity as he stuttered out an apology and fled out into the street. The last thing he saw before he ran back to his apartment was the shocked expression on Oikawa’s face as he stood rooted to the spot behind the counter and watched Hajime leave.

 

He wants to go back, even though he knows he shouldn’t, even though he has no idea how to explain himself. The memories aren’t coming gradually through dreams anymore; instead they all appeared at once. All those memories of past lives, of desperate attempts to find each other throughout the steady, never ending stream of time; they all came back.

He sits at the kitchen table, staring down at the small basket filled with clover, and now that he knows why it had caught his attention so easily, he almost wants to throw the plant into the trash.

 

-

 

 _They are seven years old and the summer sun painted freckles across Oikawa_ _’_ _s cheeks. He beams brightly at Hajime before taking his hand and pressing something into his palm._

_“Mama said this is for good luck. So you’ll be fine until I come back.”_

 

_Hajime looks down at the tiny, fragile leaf in his hand and scrunches up his nose._

_“You’re only gone for a week, dumbass. I’ll be alright without your whining for a few days.”_

 

 _Oikawa_ _’_ _s pout almost makes him take back his words, but before he can open his mouth the smile is back_ _,_ _just as happy as it had been before, stretching widely across his sunburnt face._

 _“Don’t always be so mean Iwa-chan! And if you keep making that face it’ll get stuck like that and you’ll look like a grumpy_ _~~,~~ _ _old man.”_

_Oikawa pulls down the corners of his mouth with his fingers and mockingly furrows his eyebrows._

_“I’m old man Iwa-chan,” he says in an exaggeratedly deep voice, “and I love gross bugs and spinach.”_

 

 _Hajime rolls his eyes and Oikawa laughs cheekily before he turns_ _and skips backwards towards his parents’ car. He waves and almost stumbles over his own feet._

_“Bye-bye, Iwa-chan!”_

_Closing his hand over the clove, Hajime waves back and watches as Oikawa climbs into the car._

_He stands out in the street looking after the car until it disappears around a corner, and when he gets back to his house he carefully puts the clover in between the pages of a heavy book._

_That night the rain falls in buckets and makes the asphalt glisten like black diamonds under the moonlight._

_Oikawa doesn’t return, not a week later, and not at any point in that life. Hajime keeps the clover hidden in his bookshelf, and maybe it brings him luck but it can’t bring back his best friend._

 

-

 

He doesn’t throw out the basket, but moves it to the windowsill next to the Forget-me-nots. Looking at the tiny, blue flowers now he realizes how ironic their name is.

Forget-me-not.

He can never forget Oikawa, he knows that, and even if he tries to suffocate the memories, they won’t disappear, not in this life. There’s nothing he wants to do more in that moment than to go back to the coffee shop, to find Oikawa again.

 _Soulmates_ , the voice in his head whispers, _he’s your soulmate._

 

He wants to go back, but he doesn’t think he could take it to see Oikawa look at him like that again, with total confusion and his eyes void of any spark of recognition. He thinks that, maybe, he’s afraid that he will never forget Oikawa, but that Oikawa has already forgotten him.

Restlessly pacing back and forth in his living room he folds his hands behind his head and looks up at the ceiling. He doesn’t want to see that look again, but he also can’t let this go by as one of those lives where they lose each other forever. There have been too many of that kind, too many where they never meet or meet too late.

He can’t let that happen again.

 

-

 

_They stare at each other from across the room, but stay silent, don’t talk._

_They never do._

 

_Hajime can feel the dirt under his fingernails. His shirt is worn out and too tight so that it stretches uncomfortably across his chest and shoulders, and t_ _he stone floor is cold under his bare feet and his legs are starting to get stiff from standing still for so long._

_A strand of hair falls into Oikawa_ _’s face and Hajime wants to go and brush it away but he can’t, and so he stays standing by the wall, back straight and face schooled into a neutral expression._

 

 _Instead_ _,_ _he watches on as the girl sitting next to Oikawa leans over and tugs the stray hair behind his ear._

 _She’s breathtakingly pretty,_ _of course she is, she’s a princess after all. Hajime knows she’s kind and gentle, probably a better person than most of the nobles around him. Still, he can’t stop the jealousy that boils in the pit of his stomach every time he looks at her._

_Oikawa turns towards the girl and says something that makes her laugh and Hajime tries to swallow down the knot that forms in his throat._

 

 _The girl may be pretty, but Oikawa is beautiful_ _\- the kind of beauty that is well known all throughout the kingdom, with elegant features, soft, pink lips, and long, fluttery eyelashes._

_Hajime folds his hands behind his back and absentmindedly rubs the scar on his palm with calloused fingertips._

_They never talk._

 

 _Hajime watches from the shadows as Oikawa grows taller and more beautiful with ever_ _y year that passes. The day that the old king cries is the first time in years that Oikawa can’t even get himself to wear the fake smile that he had mastered so well._

 _It only lasts a day and by the time the heavy, golden crown is placed upon his soft curls the smile is back, the charming one that always seemed pained to Hajime, but makes the ladies of the court giggle and blush._ _The young_ _king isn’t even granted a year of peaceful reign before a war breaks out in the west._ _The day that he goes to ride into battle the people of the court line up to watch the knights leave, and Hajime stands in the shadows of the Lords and Ladies while the King sits atop his beautiful, white horse._

_He holds his head up high and gives a speech filled with hope and grand words that promise that he will return soon._ _The young queen keeps a stern face, but Hajime can see her lips quiver with suppressed tears, and he wants to believe that everything will be alright even if just for her sake._

_The knights leave accompanied by music worthy of a king, and banners perched on the highest towers of the city flutter in the soft summer breeze._

_Oikawa doesn’t keep his promise._

 

_The remainders of their army return in the winter, bleeding and silent. Their eyes are blunt and no words leave their lips._

_In the spring a prince is born and the city celebrates, but the air buzzes with an uncomfortable, sharp tension that keeps Hajime on edge._

_He only sees the prince once and he looks every bit like his mother with dark hair and blue eyes as deep as the ocean._

_Rumours start to spread through the castle, dark words speaking of revolution and voices that cry for blood. Thee young queen stays locked up in her room with eyes wide in fear and flinches at every sound behind the giant doors._

_The night that men with gleaming daggers sneak through the narrow hallways, Hajime wraps the queen in his cloak and tells her to run as fast as she can._

_He himself makes it to the courtyard before an arrow pierces his chest and strikes him down._

 

 

_The last thing he sees are the stars glittering in the night sky like a thousand diamonds, and he hopes that the queen escaped, hopes that somewhere in this world she can find her peace, because his own heart died on a battlefield in the autumn rain._

 

_-_

 

He won’t let his life go by like that again. Gripped by determination he pulls on his shoes, slings his bag over his shoulder, and before he can give it a second thought he’s skipping down the stairs out into the street. On the way to the coffee shop he keeps his head low and his hands hooked under the strap of his bag.

He sees the person in front of him too late and he can barely skid out of the way fast enough to avoid running into them. When he looks up to apologize the words get stuck in his throat. He’s not voiceless the way he was in his nightmares, but there’s a spark of recognition that makes him stop.

It’s not Oikawa, it’s by far not as strong as it is with Oikawa, but it still feels like he met the young man before. His black hair lies flat and he looks at Hajime with bright blue eyes wide in confusion for a moment before his expression changes into a frown and he turns away.

 

The man is gone before Hajime can say sorry for almost running into him, and he stays rooted to the spot on the sidewalk.

Normally he would write it off as a coincidence, but all that happened in the last few weeks makes him wonder how many people he knows from past lives. There’s no doubt that Oikawa is special, but there must be people he met often enough to remember them.

With a shake of his head he keeps walking and tries to force that thought into the back of his mind.

 

The rain picks up again, just a slight drizzle that drives most people to pick up their speed. Hajime just pulls up the hood of his sweater and tugs it down deep over his face. When he finally reaches the coffee shop the rain has gotten stronger and slowly starts to soak into his shirt.

He hesitates in front of the door, contemplates going back to his apartment, when a ray of sunlight reflects off of the shop’s window, shines right into his eyes, and makes him blink in irritation.

A hole opens up in the blanket of clouds that drapes lazily over the city and the sunshine paints a pale rainbow that catches Hajime’s eye over the busy street.

The colours are mesmerizing, even though they don’t quite build a full arch.

 

-

 

_Since they were little children people always said that Hajime was like the sea, calm and guiding, and that Oikawa is the sun shining high up in the sky._ _It takes him years to see what they mean, and when finally does he‘s scared that maybe he realized it too late._

_They are sitting in Oikawa’s bedroom_ _in their last year of college, just a few weeks before graduation, open books strewn across the room._ _Oikawa is staring down at a stack of notes in his lap, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration as he chews on the end of his pen when it hits Hajime that he’s in love with his best friend._

_He honestly doesn’t know how he never saw this before, how he never saw how beautiful Oikawa is, how his eyes sparkle in the low afternoon sun falling in through the dusty window._ _It hits him that he wants to spend the rest of his life with Oikawa, wants to wake up next to him every morning and kiss him awake._

_He must have made a noise because Oikawa looks up from the floor to where Hajime is sitting on the bed with his legs crossed. The pen that Oikawa had been chewing on dangles from the corner of his mouth and draws Hajime’s attention to softly curved, pink lips._

_“Do you need something to drink?”_

 

_Hajime quickly shakes his head even though his mouth feels dry as sand, and instead averts his eyes back to the book in his hands._

_The next two weeks he keeps catching himself staring at Oikawa; at the way he sweeps stray hair out of his face with graceful fingers and the way his eyes light up when someone mentions volleyball._

_It takes him until graduation day to gather up the courage to confess._

_The whole day the fear of rejection churns at his stomach, but he finally blurts out those words that he should have said a long time ago if he had just realized it sooner._

_Oikawa’s face is still blotchy and his eyes are red from crying during the graduation, but a smile lights up his face even though the tears start streaming down his face again._

_That day Hajime finds out that Oikawa’s lips really are as soft as they look when they move greedily against his own._

_They were right, Hajime thinks, Oikawa really is the sun that lights up his life._  
  


_And maybe he himself really is the ocean and when the sunlight hits the droplets of water that swirl up into the air with every wave it creates a spectacle of colours._

 

_-_

 

For once it’s a memory that makes him hopeful, and he thinks that maybe this life really can have a happy ending. Hajime takes a deep breath and hopes Oikawa is even on shift as he reaches out to pull open the door. It turns out that he’s lucky today and the brunet really is standing behind the counter, smiling and talking to a customer effortlessly.

Unlike the last time there is no line and Hajime shuffles up to the counter just as the only patron in front of him takes her drink and walks past him towards the door.

 

“Welcome to King’s Coffee, what-“

Oikawa stops halfway through his greeting, when he really looks at Hajime and his eyes widen in recognition. For a moment Hajime hopes that maybe he remembers him, hopes that by some miracle the memories came back, but the second that Oikawa opens his mouth again Hajime knows that he’s not right.

“You’re that guy who came in here last week and ran out again,” he says with an amused smile and leans onto the counter.

 

Hajime shifts his weight from one foot to the other and frowns.

“That was just kind of a bad day.”

 

“Oh don’t worry, I’ve seen stranger than that.”

For some reason that doesn’t make Hajime feel any better so he clears his throat and crosses his arms over his chest. He averts his eyes to avoid looking at Oikawa but he can still hear the barista’s laugh.

“Well, what can I get you today, mystery man?”

 

The question catches Hajime off guard even though it really shouldn’t, after all that’s what you go to a coffee shop for. He was worrying so much about what to say when he sees Oikawa again that he didn’t even consider actually having to order something.

“I’ll just have a black coffee. Please.”

 

Oikawa stares at him with raised eyebrows. He self-consciously rubs the back of his neck and shrugs.

“God, I can’t decide if you’re insane, boring, or pretentious.”

 

That makes Hajime stop in his motion and look up with an offended frown.

“Aren’t you supposed to be nice to your customers, not insult them?”

 

Oikawa shrugs and shoots him an amused grin before he starts preparing the coffee.

“What, are you going to run out on me a second time?”

 

“I might as well,” Hajime grumbles under his breath and doesn’t think Oikawa can hear him, but a soft laugh proves him wrong.

 

“That’ll be 2.50.”

Hajime sorts the money out of his wallet and wordlessly sets it down on the counter. Oikawa is humming something that hurts Hajime’s ears and makes him wonder if his soulmate is tone-deaf.

“So what’s your name, mister grumpy pants?”

Oikawa holds up a papercup and points at it with an uncapped sharpie.

 

“Iwaizumi.”

He doesn’t point out that he’s the only customer in the shop and that there’s really no reason to ask for his name.

“Okay then, one black coffee for Iwa-chan coming right up!”

The familiar, old nickname leaves a bitter taste in Hajime’s mouth, but he swallows it down just as Oikawa holds the cup out to him over the counter.

 

“Thank y-“

He reaches out for the cup but before he can grab it Oikawa pulls it back.

Hajime makes a confused noise in the back of his throat but Oikawa just taps a finger against his lips and looks off into the distance with a mock thoughtful look.

“I’ll give you your coffee,” he promises,

“Under one condition.”

 

Hajime sighs.

“What do you want?”

He’s still grabbing for the cup and Oikawa just lifts it up higher into the air.

Hajime contemplates jumping to get it, after all he already paid money for this, but he gets an answer before he actually tries to wrestle the coffee away from Oikawa.

 

“How did you know my name last week?”

Hajime’s hand freezes in its movement and he thinks his heart stops for a second. His brain is completely empty and the look on Oikawa’s face has turned serious. There’s no way he can just laugh it off as a lucky guess, and for a moment he thinks that he’ll really have to run out of the shop a second time, when he has the saving idea.

“Your nametag,” he blurts out and gestures at Oikawa’s chest.

It says his name in neat, bold letters and Hajime really hopes that the lie will pass.

 

Oikawa doesn’t give in right away, just continues to hold Hajime’s coffee out of reach, and looks at him with raised eyebrows.

A second later his ever so charming smile is back and he sets the cup down on the counter.

“Okay then. Have a good day!”

Hajime is still wary whether Oikawa will snatch the cup away again but he carefully picks it up without the barista interfering.

“Thanks, you too.”

“Make sure to visit us again soon!”

 

Hajime nods. Somehow it feels like he should say something, and even though he doesn’t know what to say he opens his mouth.

Before he can blurt out anything stupid, Oikawa’s co-worker comes out of the backroom and the brunet turns towards him. Hajime clamps his mouth shut again and quickly makes his way out of the shop. For some reason it feels like he ran away again without saying the right thing, but he really doesn’t know how to bring up what he wants to talk about.

With a sigh he looks down at the cup in his hand. Oikawa scribbled his name on it, not his real name, but that nickname that he seems to give him in every life. His handwriting is as terrible as ever but Hajime can see that he tried and even drew a little smiley behind it.

 

The rain stopped and left the sky completely clear of clouds for the first time in weeks, just an endless plane of light blue.

 

-

 

_He lies on his back in the soft grass and stares up into the sky as a fluffy, white cloud passes by. He can hear the leaves of nearby trees tremble in the wind but he can’t feel the air pass over his skin._

_It’s lonely like this, he thinks, it’s really lonely but he’d rather be alone now._

_He closes his eyes. Everything goes dark, there aren’t even any swirls dancing behind his eyelids, and he concentrates on Oikawa’s voice._

 

Your mom came by yesterday.

_Hajime hums._

 

She brought flowers. They’re really pretty, aren’t they?

_He nods. They’re tiny and blue. His favourite flowers._

Forget-me-nots. They’re your favourites.

_He turns his head to the side, cheek pressed into the grass, and looks at Oikawa. There’s a smile on his face, but it’s pained and Hajime wishes he could make it disappear._

 

The old team wants to come by, too, but it’s difficult.

_He understands. They all live too far away now. He really wants to see them again and he thinks that Oikawa does too, but it might just not work out. He hopes it does though._

_Oikawa leans his head back and looks up at the sky. He sits with his legs crossed in the grass and fiddles with something in his hands. Hajime wants to ask what it is._

 

College is going pretty well. It’s hard, but not much harder than last year. I’m thinking about starting to drive again.

 _Hajime hopes that he will, hopes that he can. The way from their apartment to campus is pretty far_ _by train._

_A sniffling noise rips Hajime out of his thoughts and he sits up. Oikawa is looking down at his hands again and tears are streaming down his face._

_Hajime reaches out to touch his shoulder in comfort._

 

I just want to talk to you again, you know?

_Oikawa’s voice breaks._ _Hajime reaches out for him but his hand passes through his shoulder like mist._

 

 

I wish you were still here.

_Hajime looks at the smooth, white gravestone in the grass, and a lumps forms in his throat._

 

_I wish so too, he thinks and closes his eyes as the sun continues to shine down on him without spending warmth or leaving shadows._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this had an estimated wordcount of 12k but right now I'm at about 11.5k and I don't think I'll be able to wrap it up in 3 chapters as originally planned....  
> talk to me on [tumblr](inkcaviness.tumblr.com)!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back again, as promised, and this time the chapter is at least a bit happier!   
> Again, proofread by the wonderful [commovente](http://archiveofourown.org/users/commovente)!

The rain is over and summer arrives, making Hajime’s apartment heat up rapidly in the merciless afternoon sun.

The puddles on the sidewalk dry out and within two days Hajime just wishes the rain would start up again. He keeps the shutters of his bedroom window closed, but it still gets warm enough to keep him up at night, and that’s how he ends up lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling covered in a thin layer of sweat as the fan hums softly without bringing any actual relief.

 

There’s no way he can sleep now. It’s not only the heat that keeps him up, but also all those thoughts about Oikawa that keep nagging at his brain. He lies there for another minute trying to tune out the steady ticking of his alarmclock.

 

It’s not even midnight yet, he thinks, it’s not that late.

 

Five minutes later he stands outside of his apartment in shorts and a tanktop that already clings uncomfortably to his skin. He’s the only one still walking down his street, although as soon as he turns the corner leading him deeper downtown a few people pass him by. On the other side of the street a group of teenagers are singing loudly and incredibly off-key.

 

Hajime decides that he doesn’t really want to forget about his troubles in a dingy bar. He’s not quite that desperate yet.

Instead the glowing sign of a fast food restaurant catches his attention. There’s not exactly much else to do and he hasn’t had any nice, disgustingly greasy French fries in months.

 

The door handle is sticky and he wipes off his hands on his shirt after pushing open the door. The restaurant doesn’t look too dirty even though the light flickers and there’s the distinct smell of burnt food lingering in the air.

There’s only one employee behind the counter, a kid with badly dyed hair playing a game on a bright red DS. He doesn’t look up or greet Hajime although it seems like his shoulders tense up.

 

Hajime stands at the counter and clears his throat. The kid doesn’t look up. Faint, American pop music plays somewhere in the back, occasionally interrupted by static noise and snippets of other radio shows.

Hajime clears his throat again. No reaction. The ceiling fan rattles, but isn’t doing much to help against the stuffy, hot air that doesn’t seem to move a bit.

It takes a third time of clearing his throat until the kid _finally_ looks up.

 

They stare at each other for a moment before the blond kid averts his eyes with a sigh.

Hajime is starting to feel tired and he almost regrets leaving his apartment at all.

 

“What do you want?”

 

The kid’s voice is quiet, so low that if there was anyone else in the restaurant Hajime might have missed it.

 

“Fries, please.”

 

The kid has dark circles etched into the skin under his eyes and he looks like he just wants to go home or at least continue playing his game. The nametag on his shirt reads Kozume.

 

“Large?”

 

Kozume sounds as tired as he looks and Hajime shrugs.

 

“Sure.”

 

The kid has to hit the cash register twice before it finally creaks open. Hajime really wants to leave, especially because the smell of burnt food is starting to get stronger and the background music has been replaced by white noise. He pays anyway and Kozume shuffles off to get his food.

Hajime briefly wonders if it’s his destiny to wither away in restaurants with bad customer service. Then Kozume comes back and wordlessly shoves a bag of fries at him before returning to his game.

Hajime thinks he can hear him mumble a goodbye, but it might have just been the fan.

He leaves the restaurant as fast as possible and decides not to go back, at least not while bad-hairdye is on shift.

The fries are cold, of course they are, what else did he expect, but there’s no way he’ll go back to complain. He’s pretty sure that would be a very one-sided conversation anyway.

 

The darkness slowly cools down the air, but his apartment is most likely still as hot as it was earlier and he decides that there’s no harm in wandering around town a bit more. Two blocks later he stumbles upon a small park and his fries are halfway empty. They taste as stale as they smell and lie in his stomach like stones.

 

The park is as good a choice as anything and maybe he’s less likely to find drunks here. Most of the lamps along the gravel path are broken, but fireflies tumble through the darkness in their stead.

 

-

 

_“You ran away?”_

_Oikawa nods and looks down at his feet. His face is blotchy red and he’s still sniffling even though he stopped crying._

_“Why did you run away?”_

_He doesn’t get an answer, but tears start welling up in Oikawa’s eyes again. Hajime sighs and reaches out to lightly nudge Oikawa’s shoulder with his fingertips._

_“Come on idiot; let’s go down to the stream.”_

_He doesn’t wait for an answer this time, just grabs Oikawa’s sleeve and drags him along, down the street and across the meadow at the edge of town. In the distance he can already see trees along the riverside climb up high into the sky. When Oikawa stops crying all they can hear is the chirping of the birds, water rushing over stones, and the thumping of their own feet on the ground._

_The water always makes him uneasy, not really a fear, just feeling of dread that overcomes him every time they go down to the river. Still, he can swallow down the discomfort his best friend. In contrast to him, Oikawa loves the riverside, loves sitting in the soft grass underneath spindly birch trees and listen to the breeze rattle through the trees._

_He pulls Oikawa down to the ground with him and let’s go of his wrist in favour of entwining their fingers._

_Oikawa doesn’t say anything, doesn’t have to, Hajime knows that the slight squeeze of his hand means that he’s grateful. Grateful for staying by his side even when he throws around words that cut like glass, grateful for not asking questions when Oikawa runs out of words to say._

_They stay like this as the sun wanders across the horizon; fingers laced together, lying side by side as they stay up into the sky and listen to the birds sing._

_Hajime slowly eases into the sounds of the river flowing, feels his shoulders relax while the sky gets darker._

_They forget about the time like that, and before they know it the night has settled into the trees around them._

_“Look!”_

_Oikawa whispers urgently and tugs at Hajime’s shirt._

_“Look, be quiet or you’ll scare them away!”_

_He’s pointing up at a group of fireflies that swirl through the night like sparks come to life._

_Hajime looks over at Oikawa who’s wearing a toothy grin and he’s glad that the light that was missing this morning is back in his eyes. There are few things that he hates as much as seeing his best friend sad, and he knows that this isn’t always just sadness._

_He wishes he could do anything to keep the shadows away, wishes he could grab the stars out of the night sky to brighten Oikawa up, but he can’t. All he can do is take his hand and try to lead him towards the fireflies and hope that Oikawa can hold on, that they won’t lose each other._

_They go back to their street later that night and Oikawa looks a little happier than before and Hajime hopes that it will stay like this for awhile._

_He doesn’t go inside until he sees Oikawa walk up his own driveway._

_Maybe he won’t have to run away again._

-

 

Hajime walks down the gravel path and munches away on his cold fries that he slightly regrets spending money on. The paper bag makes his fingers greasy and sticky, but at least now he knows what place to avoid when getting fast food.

He stops next to a trashcan under one of the few working streetlights and picks out the last fries before crumpling up the bag and tossing it into the trash.

Hajime stretches his arms over his head and folds his hands behind his neck. There’s something calming about the steady humming of the lamp and he can feel himself get drowsy. The lights of the city obscure the night sky and outshine the stars, but at least the fireflies make up for it with their swirling dance.

 

He stands like that for a while before letting his arms fall back to his sides. Patting at his pockets he curses when he can’t find his phone. He’s not exactly sure what time it is, although it must be past midnight by now and the air has cooled down enough to make sleep possible. Throwing a last glance at the fireflies dancing in the trees he shoves his hands into his pockets and starts walking back to the main street.

 

On the way back to his apartment he walks past the fast food restaurant again, still empty except for the blond kid. _Nekoma_ , it proclaims in obnoxiously red neon lights above the door. The last two letters flicker occasionally, but haven’t gone out completely yet.

 

When he gets home he collapses face first into his white sheets and falls asleep with his cheek pressed against the cool pillow.

 

-

 

Hajime wakes up to the sound of his phone vibrating. He blindly feels around for it and almost falls out of bed in the process. Finally he finds it dangerously close to the edge of his nightstand.

The sudden burst of light makes his eyes water and he can barely make out what it says on the screen. When he finally deciphers the words he’s suddenly wide awake.

Even at the age of 25 the words “5 missed calls from mom” still make his blood run cold.

He sits up, blankets bunched up at the end of his bed, and clumsily turns on his lamp. The clock besides his bed tells him that’s already past ten in the morning and he curses at himself for sleeping for so long. Normally he tries to get up earlier in the summer to go for a run before the heat starts up, but now the sun has already been beating down on the city for hours.

 

He stares down at the phone in his hands for a moment before he presses the button to call back. Pressing the phone against his ear he swings his legs over the edge of his bed, and listens to the phone ring one, two, three times, before someone picks up.

 

“Mom?”

 

There’s rustling on the other end of the line for a moment before his mother answers.

 

_“Hajime?”_

“Yeah. Hi, mom.”

 

_“Oh, good. I’m glad I still reached you!”_

Hajime furrows his eyebrows and switches the phone to his right ear.

 

“Is everything alright?”

 

_“Sure, sure! Say, are you home?”_

Now Hajime is definitely confused. He nods before he remembers that his mother can’t see him.

 

“Yeah, why?”

 

_“Think you can spare some time for your old mother?”_

At that Hajime perks up. He finally thinks he knows where this is going and it makes a giddy grin spread on his face.

 

“Are you-“

 

His mother’s soft laugh interrupts him and he can hear the smile in her voice when she talks again.

_“I’m on the train.”_

 

Hajime’s grin widens and he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He may be a 25 year old who’s scared of “5 missed calls from mom”, but he also hasn’t seen his mother in half a year. Her laugh reminds his of childhood days filled with warm colours and the smell of spices that spread through the kitchen whenever he helped her cook.

 

“Really?”

 

_“I’ll be there in an hour, I think.”_

Hajime is already pulling on his socks, phone clamped between his shoulder and his ear.

 

“I can pick you up from the train station.”

_“Oh no, no!”_

His mother rejects his offer vehemently before he’s even completely done talking.

 

“It really wouldn’t be a problem. The streets can be confusing here.”

 

_“No, I’m serious. It’s not that far from the station to your apartment. You go buy something sweet at that bakery, you know, the really good one that we went to last time?”_

Hajime does remember the homey, little shop they had gone to the last time his mother visited and he hums in confirmation.

 

“Okay, do you want anything specific?”

 

_“Anything sweet is fine. I just can’t find a bakery with decent pastries here…”_

                                                 

The layer of genuine disappointment in her voice makes him snort with laughter.

 

_“Now don’t go laughing at your poor, old mother! It’s rude.”_

 

“Sorry, ma!”

 

_“You better be, young man. Well now off off with you, I’m sure you’re still in payamas.”_

 

Hajime makes an affronted noise in the back of his throat at looks down at his dinosaur patterned boxer shorts.

 

“I’m not-“

 

_“Don’t even try to protest. I certainly know you well enough after raising you. Now go, I’ll see you later.”_

 

“Okay. Love you, ma.”

 

_“Love you, too.”_

Hajime feels like a little kid the day before Christmas again. He was always a mother’s child, never afraid to admit it, and never really grew out of it.

 

Maybe he can forget about Oikawa at least for today.

Looking down at his feet he wiggles his toes and watches his terribly mismatched socks move. He pulled them on in a haste earlier, but now that he thinks about it, today is really more of a sandals day. He wrinkles his nose at the thought of wearing sandals with socks, especially when one is bright purple and the other neon-green with yellow polka dots.

 

He takes a quick shower, the cold water feeling refreshing as it rushes over his skin, and when he steps out of the shower he decides to leave his hair wet. Droplets of water run down his back and make him shudder.

When he pulls on a white shirt and the shorts from yesterday, his still damp hair leaves large, dark spots on his shirt.

He slings his bag over his shoulder, and before he heads out of the door he checks his watch. It’s only eleven, and his mother shouldn’t be here before noon, giving him enough time to go to the bakery and maybe even pick up some flowers on his way back.

 

A wall of hot air hits him as soon as he steps out of his apartment building. The cold air of the hallway still soothes his back, and he takes a deep breath to steel himself before stepping outside.

 

-

 

_They’re sitting next to each other on the swing set under the dying light of the evening sun. Oikawa’s lips are stained blue from the popsicle he’s eating, and Hajime thinks that his fingers are probably sticky too. He always manages to get his hands sticky when he’s eating sweets, even now during their last summer of high school._

_They sit in silence, there really isn’t anything they need to talk about and Hajime would rather not speak anyway, even though there are so many unsaid words burning on the tip of his tongue. Lately he feels like he can’t trust his own voice, too scared of saying something he’ll regret later._

_I love you._

_They words sit heavily in his stomach. He won’t say them, of course he won’t, but they’re still there, pushing against his front teeth, trying to fight their way through. He won’t let them escape, won’t destroy this with careless words._

_Oikawa is annoying, and whiny, and pushes himself too hard. He complains about every little thing, but won’t say a word about what really bothers him. He indulges all the girls from their school in their flirting, even though he never goes on a date with any of them._

_No, of course he doesn’t. That moron has the prettiest girls throwing themselves at him, but all he cares about are volleyball, and beating Ushijama, and watching crappy documentaries about aliens that he’s already seen ten times._

_But Hajime loves him anyway, could never imagine_ not _loving him, or maybe all those things are exactly the reasons why he does love Oikawa._

_Yes, that’s really why he loves him._

_He loves the way Oikawa’s eyes light up whenever someone mentions volleyball._

_He loves his stupidly fluffy hair that he takes so much care of every morning._

_He loves the fact that Oikawa still wears those dumb, old payamas with little, green aliens printed on them._

_He loves how excited he gets about E.T. even after watching that movie for what feels like the hundredth time._

_Hajime loves Oikawa with all of his heart and soul, and he would give anything in the world to protect this boy, but the only thing that Oikawa needs to be protected from is himself. He doesn’t want this beautiful boy to break, wants to stop him from breaking himself. Every day Oikawa takes a step further on shaking legs, further towards beating Ushijama at volleyball, further towards becoming what everyone always told him he couldn’t be. Oikawa isn’t a genius, and he knows it, but he’ll try to make up for it by working until the shadows under his eyes are almost as dark as the bruises on his arms, until his knees break under him._

_Hajime wants to scream, wants to yell at him to stop and wait and sit down because they can walk this path together but Oikawa is blind and deaf to his pleading and slowly moves away from Hajime. They’re still best friends, but Oikawa is dragging himself too far and Hajime can barely keep up._

_And still Hajime loves him so much it makes his chest ache and he doesn’t think there will ever be a time when he isn’t in love with his best friend._

_They sit on a swing set and watch the sunset._

_Oikawa’s popsicle is starting to melt and drop down on his shirt, and he’s making a terrible mess. The cicadas are chirping in the dry grass as the sun disappears behind the horizon and leaves the world in soothing darkness._

_And on a beautiful summer night Iwaizumi Hajime is hopelessly in love with Oikawa Tooru._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly I'm sick at the moment and I really hope it will get better by next week so I can write the next chapter in time, but I can't promise it 100%...  
> Talk to me on [tumblr](inkcaviness.tumblr.com)!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm finally back and i'm so so sorry that i couldn't update any sooner and now it's not even a long chapter... i'd love to promise that the next update will be sooner but i know that i won't have any time to write tomorrow or on wednesday and i'm going to rome the week after so i honestly don't know when i'll be able to write again... 
> 
> again thank you to [commovente](http://archiveofourown.org/users/commovente) for proofreading and being so patient with me!

Just as he predicted the air is scorching hot, even before noon, and by the time that he gets to the small bakery at the corner down the street pearls of sweat already stick to his forehead. When he steps inside, the bell above the door rings softly and he breathes in deeply, savouring the smell of brashly baked bread.

Behind the counter a short woman quickly walks back and forth, picking up pastries and talking animatedly to her customers.

 

Hajime gets in line and tugs at the hem of his shirt, trying to get some cool air to his skin. Without an A/C it’s almost as hot in here as it is outside, and there’s more warm air drifting into the shop from the back room.

The elderly woman at the front of the line talks slowly, telling stories about her friends who are coming over for coffee, until she finally leaves with a large box full of cake in her hands.

Hajime frowns at the back of the man in front of him who’s now at the counter, talking quietly. His voice sounds young and somehow is surrounded by the typical atmosphere of ‘tired college student’, but he still towers several centimetres above Hajime.

 

 _Just one centimetre taller_ , that’s what he had been wishing for ever since high school. He gave up hopefor a growth spurt in college, but that doesn’t stop him from being bitter about that one centimetre.

 

The man in front of him finally leaves carrying two plates with strawberry shortcake and walks over to the seating area. Out of the corner of his eye Hajime sees him sit down next to a brunet man who talks while waving his hands through the air.

 

“Hi, what can I get for you?”

 

Hajime quickly looks back to the front. The woman behind the counter is even shorter close up and although she’s smiling brightly at him she seems twitchy and keeps on turning a pen between her fingers. He shoots her a smile and scans the pastries behind the glass, thoughtfully chewing on his lower lip. They all look good, some glazed with sugary frosting, others topped with slices of fresh fruit.

 

It takes him a while to pick out a few different pieces, and after he pays he walks out cradling a box labelled _Karasuno Café and Bakery_ in his arms.

Balancing the box in one hand he pulls out his phone to check the time and almost drops the cake on the sidewalk. He manages to catch the box before it slips out of his grip and quickly glances at the clock before shoving the phone back into his pocket. It’s still at least half an hour until his mother should arrive and the inviting sign of the flower shop across the street catches his attention.

 

Looking left, then right he grips his box securely and hurries across the street. It’s the same flower shop where he bought the clover and the forget-me-nots, and the same ashen-haired florist stands behind the counter again. He’s working intently on a floral arrangement with fern and bright yellow flowers, but when Hajime walks in and the bell above the door jingles, he immediately looks up and smiles brightly.

 

“Good morning! Do you need my help or are you just looking around?”

 

Hajime shifts the box in his hands a little and looks around at the different bouquets.

 

“Ah, I think I might need a little help.”

The florist set aside the flowers he was working with, wipes his hands off on his apron, and then clasps them together in front of his chest.

 

“Sure! What were you thinking about?”

 

“Well, I’m searching for something for my mother.”

 

Hajime glances down at the florist’s nametag before looking up at his face again. Sugawara. Sugawara moves out from behind the counter and over to the bouquets lined up by the window, and Hajime hesitantly trails behind him.

When the florist suddenly stops and turns around Hajime almost runs into him but takes a step back just in time.

 

“Oh, you can put down your box on the counter if you want to!”

 

Startled Hajime looks down at the box in his hands, before looking over at the counter.

 

“Sure, thanks.”

 

With a grateful nod he walks back over and carefully places the box on the corner of the counter before shuffling back to the bouquet section.

 

“So did you have anything specific in mind? A colour scheme or a special kind of flower?”

 

Looking over the assortment of floral arrangements Hajime rubs the back of his neck.

 

“Maybe something orange? That’s her favourite colour.”

 

Sugawara taps a finger against his lower lip and hums thoughtfully.

 

“Is there anything that she’s allergic to?”

 

Hajime shakes his head and watches as Sugawara walks over to a shelf with vases all filled with single flowers of varying sizes and colours. With practiced movements he swiftly picks out a few different flowers. He gathers some orange ones with soft, fluttery petals and pairs them up with some tiny yellow flowers. After thoughtfully squinting at the half finished bouquet for a moment he arranges them all around a single, large flower with heavy looking, blood red petals.

 

With one hand n his hip he critically examines the bouquet before looking back up at Hajime.

 

“Does that look alright?”

 

Hajime looks at the bouquet composed of flowers of varying sizes, all warm colours that blend together nicely, and nods.

 

“Sure.”

 

They go back to the counter where Sugawara wraps the finished bouquet in light green wrapping paper and Hajime pays quickly, realizing that he only has a few minutes to get back to his apartment.

Just as he’s about to balance both, the cake and the flowers, in his arms, the door behind him opens. He doesn’t pay any attention to it until a familiar voice makes him freeze in his movement with his eyes wide in surprise.

 

“Hi Suga-chan, you got a minute for me?”

 

He wanted to see Oikawa again, had felt a pull in his chest drawing him back to the coffee shop, but he didn’t want it to go like this. As he turns around he prays to every deity he knows that by some miracle it’s someone else, but when does fate ever listen to his pleas?

 

Oikawa stands in the door, carrying two drinks in his hands and the light from outside shines on his brown hair making it look like spun gold. The T-shirt he’s wearing is loose, the thin cloth almost slipping off of his shoulder and Hajime wants to run his fingers over that smooth, tan skin. Then Oikawa takes another step inside the shop, the cascading cloak of light falling behind, and Hajime lets go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

 

For a moment they look at each other in surprise, but before either of them can break the silence, Sugawara interrupts them with an exasperated sigh.

 

“Oikawa, how many times have I told you not to lounge around here when I’m working?”

 

Sugawara has his hands on his hips and the corners of his mouth are drawn downwards in a stern frown, but he seems less angry and more like a mother giving her child a well-meaning chiding.

Oikawa smiles sheepishly and shrugs.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Hajime thinks he doesn’t look all that sorry and judging by the way that Sugawara rolls his eyes he doesn’t buy it either.

 

“Did you at least bring me something to drink?”

 

Oikawa nods eagerly and holds up one of the cups in his hands.

 

“Of course, vanilla frappé as usual!”

 

He walks up to the counter, standing so close to Hajime that their arms brush and Hajime almost drops his flowers. Oikawa holds out the cup and Sugawara takes it with a thankful nod before pressing it to his cheek. He lets out a long-stretched, relieved sigh and closes his eyes in bliss.

 

“Holy shit, we really need air conditioning in here.”

 

With that he throws a disdainful look up at the rattling ceiling fan before finally noticing that he still has a customer. Quickly snapping back to attention the florist slams his drink down on the counter and Sugawara and Oikawa both turn to Hajime at the same time. He’s still fumbling with the box and the bouquet in his arms and by now he probably really needs to hurry to get back to his apartment, but they don’t let him escape so fast.

 

Oikawa’s smile quickly turns into a grin and Hajime is glad that he at least possesses the basic decency not to drape an arm over his shoulders.

 

“Heya, Iwa-chan! What are you doing here?”

 

Hajime scowls at him, an automatic response to that nickname at this point.

 

“None of your business, Shittykawa.”

 

Oikawa clasps a hand over his heart and his lips shape a perfect o.

 

“Can you believe this, Suga-chan? How can he insult such a delicate, wonderful being as me?”

 

Sugawara makes a sound that Hajime can only describe as a snicker and somehow he fears that it’s at his expense. He does try to hide it behind his hands, failing majestically, and now it’s Hajime’s turn to look offended.

 

“You wouldn’t give me my coffee the last time we met.”

 

Oikawa just shrugs, not an ounce of remorse on his face and Sugawara lowers his hand from his face. He still looks as pretty as an angel, Hajime has to admit that, but there’s a devious quirk in the man’s smile that makes him cautious.

 

“Oh, are you that guy that ran out on Oikawa at the coffee shop?”

 

Hajime nods slowly and he can see Oikawa glance at Sugawara out of the corner of his eye.

 

“He’s been going on and on abou-“

 

A hand clamped over Sugawara’s mouth shuts him up before he can finish the sentence. Hajime didn’t even see Oikawa reach over the counter, miraculously still holding his own drink without spilling anything. Oikawa doesn’t leave him any time to ask what the hell _that_ was about and instead grabs the cake box out of Hajime’s arms.

 

“Let me help you carry that stuff, you’re so tiny after all!”

 

All thoughts of strange, half-finished sentences are instantly blown away by the fact that, in every single life, Oikawa won’t let him forget their height difference.

 

“Shut up, dumbass. You’re not even that much taller than me.”

 

He really isn’t, it’s just a few centimetres, and Hajime knows that. He also knows that he only has to angle up his face and stand on his tiptoes a little to press a kiss to Oikawa’s lips, but he quickly dismisses that thought.

 

“Sure sure, now where do you need to go with this?”

 

Oikawa is still beaming and Hajime scowls at him.

 

“To my apartment, but I can get there alone, _thank you very much._ ”

 

The last few words vanish in empty air, because Oikawa is already skipping towards the door, still holding Hajime’s cake.

 

“So where’s your apartment?”

 

Hajime looks at Sugawara in his search for help but the florist just makes a shooing motion with his hands and then he fucking _winks._ Obviously this won’t work out and so Hajime reluctantly hurries after Oikawa who already left the flower shop and is quickly marching down the street. Sadly he’s making his way in the wrong direction and Hajime looks up at the sky quietly wondering why he’s stuck with a cake stealing idiot as his soulmate.

 

“Hey, dumbass, if you’re gonna steal my stuff at least carry it in the right direction.”

 

Oikawa turns around at the sound of his voice and starts beaming again when he sees Hajime stand out on the sidewalk.

 

“So I can come with you?”

 

Hajime turns away so that he doesn’t have to see Oikawa’s stupidly smug grin, and walks down the street in the direction of his apartment.

 

“Whatever, as long as you give me back my cake at some point.”

 

He hears the patter of shoes on asphalt before Oikawa catches up with him, smiling proudly and holding the box clutched to his chest.

They walk in silence for a moment and Hajime turns his head a little to glance at Oikawa who’s suspiciously quiet. The brunet catches him staring and looks over at Hajime, his grin widening into something predatory. Hajime draws away a little, frowning with his eyes narrowed.

 

“What?”

 

As Hajime leans away, Oikawa just leans closer, holds up the box in his hands, and nods at the bouquet in Hajime’s arms.

 

“So who’s all this for?”

 

He stops himself to raise his eyebrows and wink suggestively.

 

“Girlfriend?”

 

That question catches Hajime off guard and almost makes him laugh out loud, but he manages to disguise it as a curt scoff. Rolling his eyes he speeds up his pace, just so that Oikawa has to hurry a little to keep up.

 

“As if. They’re for my mom.”

 

Hajime pauses for a moment, eyes going wide as he pulls out his phone, stares at it and then shoves it back into his pocket, cursing under his breath, before continuing to walk.

 

“Come on, we need to hurry.”

 

Oikawa breaks into a little jog to keep up comfortably.

 

“We?”

 

There’s a dangerous gleam in his eyes that makes Hajime want to hit him with the bouquet, or maybe kiss him to wipe that smug look off of his face. He can’t quite decide yet but for now he won’t do either one.

 

“Yes, _we._ You’re already carrying my shit, then you can just as well help me bring it home.”

 

They turn a corner and Hajime can see his apartment building down the street slowly coming closer at the same time that he spots his mother at the far end of the road. The second they reach the door of the building Hajime snatches the box out of Oikawa’s hands.

 

“Gimme that, my mom’s almost here.”

 

He hisses the words while fumbling with the door, but Oikawa doesn’t look fazed in the least, casually leaning against the doorframe as he watches Hajime search for his key.

 

“You won’t introduce me?”

 

Hajime stops in his movement to glare at Oikawa.

 

“What the hell should I introduce you as? The asshole who didn’t give me my coffee and keeps following me around?”

 

Oikawa pouts and crosses his arms in front of his chest.

 

“Are you still bitter about the coffee thing? You know if you keep making that face you’ll get wrinkles.”

 

“Just _leave_ ,” Hajime hisses with an angry glare.

 

Oikawa rolls his eyes but backs away, hands raised in a pacifying gesture. Hajime just barely has enough time to shoo Oikawa away and make sure that he’s really leaving before his mother stands in front of him. He can’t even say hello before he’s already engulfed in a hug that almost crushes the flower and the cake. He manages to hold them in his hands behind her back and reciprocate the hug, carefully leaning his head against her shoulder. Her soft, orange sari still smells of home, the unmistakable combination of their usual washing powder and something earthy that Hajime still can’t quite place, and strands of her hair tickle his nose.

 

“Hi, mom,” he says against her ear and his mother answers with a pat on his back.

 

Hajime could stand like this forever but she eventually lets go and takes a step back, her hands on her hips and her head cocked to the side.

 

“Holding up well?”

 

Hajime obediently nods and his mother smiles in approval.

 

“So,” she starts but trails off, glancing over Hajime’s shoulder. He doesn’t even have to turn around to know who she’s looking at.

 

“So, who was that young man?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to all who are even still reading this <3
> 
> Talk to me on [tumblr](inkcaviness.tumblr.com)!(btw, i take prompts but i can't always guarantee that i'll have the time and inspiration to write them, but i'm super happy about every message i get!!)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my goshhhhh i'm so so so sorry that this is so late. like, i don't even have an excuse, i actually had this written out already, i just had to type it up but i couldn't get myself to do it....
> 
> also, this chapter is a lot shorter than i wanted it to be and i actually have the next chapter planned out already so hopefully i'll be able to update a lot faster from now on!
> 
> a big thank you to everyone who commented on this fic and wrote me messages on tumblr because that's what kept me going <3

His mother spares him of further questions until they’re inside. Although the sudden darkness of the foyer makes white spots dance behind Hajime’s eyelids, the cool air inside the building is a soothing relief after the suffocating heat of the city outside. There’s still a sign reading _out of order_ taped to the elevator, it has been for months now, and so he quickly climbs up the stairs to the second floor, his mother close behind.

He almost curses under his breath when he has to push himself against the door of his apartment with all his weight to get it to open and his mother shoots him a stern look but he covers it up with a cough quickly enough that she lets it slide. Somehow she has a special sense that tells hr when he’s about to swear; maybe a mother-thing, Hajime thinks.

 

“Ah, can I get you anything to drink? Tea?”

 

He toes off his shoes and kicks them under a shelve next to the door, his mother takes off hers with a lot more care and reaches down to put them neatly next to each other before following him into the kitchen.

 

“Some water would be nice.”

 

Hajime nods and puts the cake and the flowers down on the kitchen table before pulling out one of the chairs.

 

“Sure, give me a second.”

 

When he returns from the kitchen his mother is already sitting, her arms resting on the tabletop, hands folded, and there’s an expectant gleam in her eyes. Hajime sets down the glass of water in front of her and tries to evade the question that’s sure to come for at least another moment.

 

“I got you cake,” he says, pointing at the box, “and flowers. I’ll just go grab a vase and some plates.”

 

She nods and smiles in appreciation.

 

“Sure, sure, take your time. I’m not in a hurry.”

 

He takes that as an excuse to rummage through his cupboard in the search of his best plates, which really doesn’t mean much more than some light blue one that don’t seem to have any cracks. Finding a vase proves to be a much more difficult task and in the end he has to begrudgingly settle for a beer glass. When he places it in the middle of the table his mother raises her eyebrows but luckily doesn’t say anything. Hajime mentally adds vases to the list of things that his apartment is missing. His mother waits until he’s also sitting down with a slice of cake in front of him before she leans forward with her elbows on the table and asks the inevitable question.

 

“Who was that young man down in the street? The one with the blue shirt?”

 

If he hadn’t been expecting the question to come up again, Hajime probably would have choked on the forkful of cake he just shoved into his mouth. This way he can chew slowly, buying himself a few more seconds to think his answer over. He can’t really admit that he doesn’t _actually_ know Oikawa, at least not yet in this life, but he also can’t tell his mother the truth, whatever that even is. Awhile ago he came to the conclusion that Oikawa must be his soulmate. He doesn’t really know how or why he came to that conclusion and if he’s being quite honest with himself it sound fairly stupid, even to him. Soulmates don’t exist. And yet he cannot come up with any kind of rational explanation for what’s been going on. For all that he knows it could all be a coincidence that they meet in every life.

_But then why are you in love with him in every life_ , the annoying voice in his head asks.

 

_Maybe_ , Hajime thinks _, by some strange twist of fate, we really are_ fated _for each other._

Gritting his teeth he swallows down that thought with the last bite of food in his mouth. His mother looks at him expectantly, the cake on her plate still left untouched, and Hajime puts on his best fake smile that’s he’s sure she doesn’t buy for one second.

 

“Just an acquaintance that I ran into at the flowershop. He offered to help me carry my things here.”

 

He tops off his explanation with a careless shrug, after all it’s not really a lie, just not quite the whole truth either. His mother stares at him for a moment, completely silent, and he knows she doesn’t believe him, but eventually she nods, picking up her fork to start eating, and he knows he’s off the hook for now.

 

“So,” she starts after taking the first bite, “How are your other friends doing? Does the one I met last time still work at the same school? You know, the polite one with the messy hair who looks like he doesn’t sleep enough.”

 

Hajime allows himself a barely audible sigh of relief and his shoulders drop a little as he relaxes back into his chair, but hopefully his change of posture doesn’t make his mother even more suspicious. A genuine smile spreads across his face this time as he starts talking.

 

“Yeah, Akaashi’s still mostly the same although he got a new roommate and…”

 

~

 

The heat vanishes just as fast as it had appeared. Hajime wakes up with his blanket pushed halfway off the bed but still tangled with his legs and the air in his room is frigid, as if the temperature had dropped several degrees just overnight.

 

He drags himself to the kitchen, the floor freezing under his bare feet and when he glances out of the window the view is obscured by raindrops splattered against the glass. A few minutes later the silence is filled by the low humming of the coffee machine as Hajime searches through the fridge. He shoves aside a carton of something that might have been juice at some point in time but that is now probably only a health code violation. There is still no sign of the milk he’s looking for. Pushing aside an unopened jar of blueberry jam he peers into the last corner of his fridge before he pulls his head back out and straightens up with a groan of resignation. The coffee machine is still making spluttering noises that would concern Hajime at any other time of day but it’s 7 am and his brain is even slower than his feet.

 

He almost trips trying to pull on a pair of jeans but in the end he successfully dresses himself without falling although there’s a dubious stain on his right knee and the cuffs of his sleeves are frayed. At least it’s not raining anymore when he gets outside, but the street is still wet and the asphalt shines in the low morning light. There’s a grocery store just around the corner, a tiny, narrow shop where it somehow always smells of onions although they don’t sell any vegetables. It’s run by an old lady who knows everyone in their neighbourhood. She doesn’t look put off by the ruffled state of his clothes and hair, just shoots him and understanding smile and pats his arm when she hands him the change.

 

Hoping that he’ll still get home before his coffee gets cold, Hajime shuffles out of the store. It’s not far to his apartment, a few minutes at most, and he’s just about to push open the door when he sees a familiar shock of light brown hair on the other side of the street, the flash of a grin that he knows too well, and he turns to see Oikawa standing there on the sidewalk. He’s got his head turned to the left, looking down the street, a phone pressed to his cheek. For a moment Hajime is mesmerized by Oikawa’s lips moving animatedly and he stops to watch, one of his hands still on the door. Then Oikawa steps out into the street.

 

He doesn’t even see it coming, there’s no way to make out one single engine over the busy noises of the city, but Hajime sees it, sees the white truck swerve over into the other lane. The deafening screech of tires on wet asphalt drowns him. He wants to shout, wants to run to Oikawa, wants to just do _something,_ but his legs won’t move, feet rooted to the spot, his entire body rigid with shock.

 

There’s a scream from somewhere else, someone calling out for an ambulance, and that’s what finally rips him out of his trance. Suddenly his legs move on their own and he barely makes it across the street to where Oikawa is lying on the ground, _Oikawa_ , in a slowly spreading pool of his own blood. Hajime’s knees give out underneath him and he sinks down next to Oikawa, _he isn’t moving_ , and when Hajime reaches out his hands are shaking.

 

Before he can touch Oikawa, a pair of hands grip his shoulders and pull him back. He tries to resist, wants to tell the person to let go, _can’t they see that Oikawa needs him?_

He wants to yell but it feels as if he’s choking, invisible hands wrapped around his throat, and his vision turns hazy, the dark of the asphalt blurring together with the glaring red of blood. When he reaches up to his face his fingertips come away wet with tears.

 

Looking back up he sees paramedics gathered around Oikawa, hectic voices mingled together, but he can’t make out any of the words through the ringing in his ears.

 

He opens his mouth and all that comes out is a strangled sob, then he falls forward, sees the street come closer to his face but before he hits the ground everything goes black.

 

~

 

Hajime wakes up panting and drenched in sweat, feeling like he’s falling downwards through endless darkness. Pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes he sits up, breathes in and out, trying to make his heart slow down but it won’t stop racing in his chest. He thought, hoped, the flashbacks had stopped, that talking to Oikawa had made them disappear, but something about this feels different from his other flashbacks. He’s not naïve enough to think it’s just a normal dream at this point; no it certainly isn’t, although he would prefer a nightmare to whatever this is, neither a dream nor a flashback.

 

When he’s finally calmed down, his heartbeat returned to normal, he leans forward, his elbows on his thighs. His head is still spinning and he takes a deep breath, concentrates on the air flowing through his lungs.

 

It’s cold, freezing, and suddenly he hears the sound of rain pattering against his window.

**Author's Note:**

> This will most likely only be three or four chapters long and will update weekly  
> Talk to me on [tumblr](inkcaviness.tumblr.com)!


End file.
